All I Want for Christmas
by Amber Evans Potter
Summary: Sarah comes home to an empty house for the holidays and gets smashed. What happens when Jareth shows up? Oneshot.


Title: All I Want for Christmas

Author: Amber Evans Potter

Beta: Night-Mare-Chan

Word Count: 1,448

Author's Note: Dedicated to Night-Mare-Chan, who has been steadfastly helping me rewrite and reshape Twists and Turns (the first chapter is nearly complete and will be posted once it has been edited). This story is a short fic (my very first story written in less than… um, a hundred thousand words) and I'm happy with it! I may write a companion piece later but for now, this is the extent of the story. I hope you enjoy!

~*~*~

The house was dark. Snow rested on everything like powdered sugar. Only the wind blowing through the trees hinted at motion. Sarah stared at the windows with their pearly white curtains, gray in the darkness, and the front porch with its long shadows, and nearly kicked the mailbox.

"Christmas Eve," she growled at no one in particular, "is supposed to be with family." She grabbed her suitcase and stomped up the steps to the dark porch, yanking off her glove to rummage in her bag for her keys. They rattled as she jammed them into the keyhole, shoving her shoulder into the door to open it. "Christmas is supposed to be a time of celebration. A time of joy and loving and _people_. Where did everybody go?" She flicked on the lights as she flitted from room to room, searching as if the empty driveway hadn't told her the truth already.

She stopped in the kitchen and sighed, slumping into a chair by the fridge. She reached over without moving and took the phone from its cradle, calling her father's cell phone by heart and placing it to her ear.

She was sent directly to his voicemail. On a whim, she called the house's voicemail and received the following message: "You have reached the Williams residence. We're currently on vacation in Cancun. If you need to reach us, please call the cell and we'll get back to you," her father's easygoing voice drowned out the suddenly oppressive silence.

Sarah stared out the window at the softly falling snow, the phone limp in her hand, and then dropped her forehead on the table. The candles rattled for a moment at her violent motion and then settled.

"I can't believe they went on vacation," Sarah muttered without moving. "To Cancun. Without telling me. 'Come home for the holidays, Sarah! We'd love to have you over! Are we doing anything else? No, of course not. Toby would love to see you!' Jerks. They're probably drinking margaritas and laughing that I'm freezing my butt off here."

She didn't really think they were laughing at her. In fact, they'd probably be beside themselves with shame once they came home. It was always such a struggle for her to make time to go home, it was a wonder they bothered to keep inviting her. But she was here, after hours on a Greyhound, another hour in a taxi, including a blown tire halfway home and in the middle of nowhere, and a near-accident on the ice just after paying the exasperated taxi driver. And now there was no one home to greet her, which was the entire reason she'd come home for the holidays in the first place.

"Well, only one thing to do now," Sarah said, lifting her head from the table. She stood and strode purposefully into the living room. She'd already flicked on the lights so, for added measure, she turned on the television – randomly, the station was set to the Discovery Channel – and then went to the liquor cabinet. She took out her father's prized tequila – a large, thin cylinder of poison – and settled herself on the couch for a long, lonely Christmas.

She was a good quarter into it and feeling rather wild when the power went out. Sarah's head lulled back against the couch and she exhaled sharply, then giggled. "Funny, real funny," she said. "But you know? My Christmas is ruined enough as it is. You don't need to keep working so hard."

"Who are you talking to?" a voice in the darkness just beside her ear said. Sarah normally would have shrieked. But the alcohol had made her feel lazy so she just grunted in distress.

"Oh no," she said. "It's _you_." She huffed, the hair in front of her face fluttering forward.

"Who were you talking to, dear Sarah?" the voice asked again, soothing against the side of her ear. She sighed and leaned her head back until it rested on a shoulder, soft hair tickling her cheek.

"I was talking to God," Sarah said. "Or whatever makes shit like this happen to me."

"Like what?" the voice said as fingers slid along her shoulders and gently massaged the tense muscles there. It was as if a puppeteer had cut the strings attached to Sarah's body because she went completely limp. "Sarah…?"

"Fine, I'll tell you, but you're not allowed to stop," Sarah said, forcing her head back so she could speak. "As you can see, I'm alone in the house. I come all this way for Christmas Eve and Christmas, and my family is away. In _Cancun_."

"I can see how such a thing might frustrate you," the voice said, those fingers doing magic against her spine so that she groaned out loud. "But that does not mean that you should allow a few setbacks to ruin your celebration."

"It's not so ruined now," Sarah mumbled. The voice chuckled and those fingers that made her aware of every nerve in her back, stilled and pulled away. She groaned and twisted her body, squinting in the darkness. She could just make out a tall silhouette; hair spiked and hands on hips. There might also have been a cape. "Do you even believe in Christmas?"

"How do you mean?" the voice said.

"I meant… do you celebrate it as a holiday?" Sarah asked, tucking her legs under her and propping herself up on her elbows. The figure in the dark shrugged and reached out a hand, gently caressing her face. The hands were dry and cool, making Sarah groan at how nice they felt against her flushed face.

"I do not," the voice said. An index finger extended to trace the curve of her jaw, to bump against her bottom lip, to thread itself into her hair. She closed her eyes.

"What do you celebrate?" Sarah asked, licking her lips and smiling happily.

"I celebrate you," the voice said, descending for a gentle, sweet kiss. Sarah climbed over the couch and pounced, kissing wildly back. When she abruptly pulled away and fell backwards on the couch, the figure chuckled breathlessly. "Sa-rah," it said in a sing-song voice. "Where has my Sa-rah gone?"

"Here!" Sarah giggled from the ground, her feet sticking up in the air. "I went for a little ride!"

"Indeed," the figure said, lithely hopping over the couch and crouching by her head. "Perhaps if I kiss you from this vantage point, you won't fall anywhere."

"You can try," Sarah giggled, shoving her hand into a laughing face. Those dry, cool fingers encircled her wrist and a moment later, Sarah was kissing again, wrapping her arms and legs around his warm body. His hands, now shoved up the back of her shirt and scalding her hypersensitive skin, snapped every nerve ending she had.

"Merry Christmas," Sarah said cheerfully.

"I hope you have a satisfactory holiday," the words whispered across her ear and Sarah jerked at their intensity.

She immediately regretted the motion and groaned, closing her eyes and pressing the heel of her palm against her aching eyeballs. She was momentarily confused, wincing as she looked around. Sunlight streamed in through the frosted windows directly into her face. The bottle of tequila sat innocently in front of her on the coffee table and the TV was in the middle of some infomercial about working out her abs with a super special device, available for free shipping if you order now!

She glanced around the living room, half remembering the previous night. When had she fallen asleep? Had the man in the darkness been a dream or reality?

Sarah leaned forward and closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead now.

"I wish you would be with me for Christmas," Sarah mumbled, fighting back frustrated tears.

A moment later, someone cleared his throat. Sarah's head jerked up and her eyes widened. Jareth smirked at her, a silver tray of something delicious balanced on one hand, the other resting on his hip. He'd somehow collected freshly baked bread with the crust, only just cracked, to expel steam and the most heavenly-smelling bread she'd ever seen, with a side of butter-like cheese. Another bowl held strawberry yogurt with fresh blueberries and granola clusters mixed in, just the way she liked it. And to top it all off, a goblet of orange juice and a bottle of Advil nearly brought tears to Sarah's eyes. He was also wearing an apron with the words "Kiss the Cook" in red print – her father's, actually.

"Sweet Sarah," he said gently, setting the tray down on the coffee table and leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Of course I will spend Christmas with you."


End file.
